Elizabeth on horses: Why Milla reminded me that I should never be in charge

And they're off!

Despite living for 13 years in Kentucky and covering seven Derbys, Ryan got his first hands-on experience with a horse on our trail ride with Icelandic horses.

I may have had the "expertise" – if that terms applies after passing a one-credit horseback riding course in college - but we were definitely the problem children for our instructor.




Ryan was aboard Hrodlur. Our troubles began about three minutes after mounting the horses. Picture three horses standing placidly in line behind the tour leader, then me about 15 feet behind, and then Ryan and Hrodlur 50 yards away while the guide yells "Mister, mister! Pull to the left!" Finally, Ryan convinced Hrodlur to return to formation. After that rocky start, Hrodlur calmed down wonderfully.

Snack break/photo break. 

Then there was me. Feisty is a deft description for my horse, Milla. She wanted to set her own pace rather than keep up with group, prompting many "Keep up! Closer! Closer!" directives from the guide.

Just a snack break. 

If we stopped for even a second, Milla was eating. Getting her to stop eating was a struggle. She'd make her own path when food was an option, and had no concern for whether her rider wanted to walk through that particular clump of bushes or where the other horses were going.

And when our group of six elected to speed up the pace, Milla wasn't content to follow the pack - she wanted to race for the lead and picked off the others. The instructor kept yelling "Shorten the reins!" and everyone knew she was most worried about me and Milla.

As we neared the end of the ride, even the instructor seemed to have given up on our cooperation. Milla and I were still trailing the pack by about 10 feet. I watched as the other four riders guided their horses into the paddock and readied to dismount. Milla, however, stopped a foot in front of the paddock and refused to move. I looked to the instructor in a panic, but by then even she was grinning: "Sorry, she's pooping. Give her a second."

Photos cannot do the setting justice. 

It illuminated why Sydney dog determines her walking routes, dining schedule, and wake-up times.
You know, basically running our household. The formidable will I inherited from my grandmother is apparently no match for any adorable animal, no matter the size.

Eating like a native (Ryan more so than me)

Ryan begin practicing for his eventual Amazing Race audition by trying several authentic Icelandic dishes during our stay:

• Fish stew (mashed fish and potatoes on rye bread)
• Smoked lamb on a thin crepe
• Dried fish (think jerky)
• Smoked trout and cottage cheese on rye
• Hard-boiled egg slices and pickled herring on rye
• Fermented shark followed by the cursory shot of Black Death

Our very kind waitress is on her way with the shot of Brennivin (Black Death) to help Ryan chase the fermented shark.

Admittedly, the pickled herring was technically part of my platter, and I simply couldn't eat more than a single bite. The texture was too slimy and jellyish-like. So Ryan had to finish that for me (though I didn't give up any of Cafe Loki's delicious house-made rye bread - so good they put its crumbles in ice cream).

Elizabeth is excited to dig into her mashed fish. A few minutes later, she was not that excited about the pickled herring. 

Other dishes I sampled was Skyr, which seems like yogurt, but Wikipedia says is actually cheese, and star-shaped lemony waffles (for I couldn't find an official name).

Not surprisingly, we skipped the optional dose of cod liver oil available at the hotel breakfast buffet after seeing this photo at the Reykjavik Museum of Photography.

We can't confirm it gets dark in Iceland

After 48 hours in Iceland, we saw a lot of the sun but not much of the moon.

In fact, Elizabeth took this photo of me before heading up to bed at 11:48 p.m. on May 15:

Does that look like daytime to anyone else? 

We figured at the very least we'd see darkness when we got up about three hours later to catch the bus to the airport, but alas, we missed the darkness.

As proof, here's Elizabeth as we wait at 3:54 a.m. May 16, which must have fallen during the in hazy twilighty few minutes between dusk and dawn:

Even in the wee hours we didn't need a flashlight or streetlights to find our way to the bus stop. 

No darkness, of course, also meant no Northern Lights, which we were told are most visible in Iceland in late October and November.

Sign of the day: Phallic edition

Yes, there is a Penis Museum in Iceland.

Yes, that's Ryan taking a picture of it's ad.

No, we did not go.

Iceland rocks! (with bonus Rush reference)

On the way to Reykjavic from the Keflavic Airport, I noticed large towers of deliberately stacked rocks, which, from a certain angle and distance, looked as if they had the silhouettes of people.

What a strange and cool welcome, I thought.

Then we just kept seeing them them. The rocks – many, if not all, are volcanic – seemed magically stacked or at least magically balanced.

A small tower of rocks in front of more stacks that we found on our walk along the Reykjavic seashore. 

These reminded me of Celtic cairns we had seen in Ireland. (For Rush fans, they also reminded me of the cover of the band's 1996 album, "Test for Echo.")

Courtesy: Rush.com

But clearly Icelandic cairns are a thing. Only here, they're called:Vörður, which comes from the Old Norse word varða that means "to guard," according to the Online Etymology Dictionary. (Side note for pronunciation: the ð takes on a th sound.)

So what are they guarding in modern day Iceland? Sometimes the sea. Or the shore, depending on your perspective. The rocks along the harbor in downtown Reykjavic were filled with ones like these:

More stacks and carefully arranged piles of rocks. 

Elizabeth got a shot of me trying to memorialize this geo-trend. 

But when it comes to rocks, that's not all.

Santiago Sierra, a Spanish artist created the monument below of a boulder split by a metal cone, which stands across the street from the Iceland Parliament building like some watchful or omniscient sentiment. Sierra installed the monument in 2012 in the wake of protests over the financial crisis in 2008-09 in Iceland, which was hit hard.  For more on this, Icelandic journalist Snorri Pall Jonsson Ulfhildarson wrote a pretty comprehensive think piece about the complexity of and questions raised by the monument.

The rock's sign plate quotes the "The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen" of 1793 aimed at echoing sentiments from the French Revolution: "When the government violates the rights of the people, insurrection is for the people and for each portion of the people the most sacred of rights and the most indispensable of duties."

Of course, not all rocks have to be spit from volcanos, stacked in magical towers or split in half for political/civic monuments. Sometimes they're just good to stand on. 

Elizabeth had to buy a hat. It wouldn't be an international trip if we didn't misjudge the weather a little. 

Sign of the day: Twisted children's tales

The lake in Reykjavik is home to many ducks. They warn the tourists not to feed the ducklings though, because it makes them easy prey for the seagulls.

This sign makes me think it's the rejected storyboard for a much darker Make Way for Ducklings. (Perhaps submitted under the title Lay Waste to Ducklings?)

Embracing #MyStopover in Iceland

Our 2018 vacation has commenced. On the agenda this year are Iceland, Scotland and France.

We're in the first of those countries now – our first time visiting Iceland. We traveled via Icelandair and bought into the company's highly effective #mystopover marketing campaign. Icelandair is definitely not afraid to position itself as a quirky brand.

Ryan and I watched the airline's safety video with mouths agape. This shot pretty much sums it up, though you can watch the entire video on YouTube.

Another marketing channel(?) that Icelandair has embraced: the airsickness bag.

The airline has claimed this previously underutilized real estate to explain "loftslag" or the reason that Iceland has such a variable climate. Ryan, however, couldn't see that from his seat.

Ryan: What's that?
Me: The barf bag.

Two minutes later.

Ryan: Are you still reading that?
Me: Yes. It's actually interesting.
Ryan: Seriously? Beyond "Aim into the opening" how thorough do the instructions need to be?

Really, it's so much more than just a vomit receptacle.